Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 56295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
“Mom, it wasn’t work. Dad was as white as a sheet of paper,” Rory says, still sitting on the couch. My hand wanders to hers, clasping it in mine. I know the state she’s in right now, hugging her would be out of the question.
“I’ll call Nix. He’ll know something. He always does.” Phoenix “Nix” Drakos, David’s best friend, my girls’ godfather, and all-around great guy. Truth be told, he’s the man who most strive to be but can’t attain, and lucky for us, he’s right across the street.
“I don’t think Dad is coming back, Mom.” Emmy’s tears leak against my shoulder as her emotions overflow. And me, well, I’m at a loss for words. Never in our thirteen-year relationship did I think David would be capable of making me second-guess every single thing we’ve built in our life.
Except that’s exactly what he does.
1
ROSALEIGH
Present Day
“Ugh, this year can just fuck right off.” My lungs hurt, and my chest is heaving. The pillow covering my face really isn’t helping, but it was scream into that or into thin air. I’m pretty sure the neighborhood, as well as my two daughters, wouldn’t take too kindly to that. Not that I don’t have an excuse; I do. I’m not putting that mildly either. Our life has been left in tatters. Do my girls know the truth? Sadly, yes they do. David, the man I thought I knew with every depth of my being, screwed his own family over. When the girls and I walk down the small local streets, pity is marring the faces of people we’ve known forever. I guess it’s better than a look of betrayal. Oh, that would be so very fitting. Lump us into the same pile of shit that is David. That’s not the case, though. Having the chief of police knock on your door the same night your girls are falling apart at the seams, not understanding a single thing, will do that to you.
The pieces of our life are now in the trash, right along with my love for David. It’s gone. Destroyed. Finito. We were young; I was younger by four years. That’s how the story goes with a lot of the now adults from our youth. Your number one goal was to get married, have two point four children, a white picket fence around a modest one-story house, and a dog. At the time, it was the absolute best thing that could ever happen to me. I was born to be a mother—I know that like the back of my hand. My childhood was chaos, full of abandonment and strings where love was concerned. I never, ever wanted my own kids to go through that. And for the most part, my girls haven’t. Chaos, yes, because wrestling two girls, each in a different stage of their life, is hard. That didn’t matter to me, though. Running around, getting the girls ready for school, toting them around, both at a different school with a different schedule, I thrived on it. Add into Rory being the track superstar she is, while Emmy does ballet and dance, it was no wonder after I’d drop into bed exhausted, mentally, emotionally, the moment my eyes slammed shut, I was sleeping. A coping mechanism of sorts. It was either that or wine, and at this moment in time, turning to alcohol would be stupid. My girls already lost one parent; they don’t need to lose another one.
It's months later, and I still have moments where I’m lost to an emotional upheaval. The girls are in their after-school activities, and I have a rare afternoon off from work now that I work full-time at the nursery. So, I came home and decided to have a meltdown. It seemed like an okay time to do it. Not that I can schedule to cry in the shower, with two young girls and only one full bathroom in the house. One or the other is constantly barging in. It’s Grand freaking Central Station, with gossip on the latest comings and goings of who’s dating whom, which boy Rory thinks is cute, how she’s got a B in one class, and is freaking out about not having straight A's. I wish I had the drive she does at her age; I was more worried about making sure not to become my mother. Sadly, that kind of happened when I landed pregnant at the same age she did. Emmy, though, she’d come in and ask me to help with some kind of art and craft, if she thought it was okay to start shaving her legs at the age of ten. I choose my battles wisely. If she wanted to do something like that, it was up to her. I only reminded her that once she started, it was an uphill battle.